


I'm Not Ok

by ignis_kun



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Anxiety, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, ITS GOOD OLLLL, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Sleep, Suicidal Thoughts, discussion of self-harm, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignis_kun/pseuds/ignis_kun
Summary: Saihara has caught himself in a large slump, mentally and workwise. But when Amami comes home that night, he provides the best comfort he can.
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	I'm Not Ok

It's simple enough to find oneself in a bit of a slump, no matter what the reason. Can't do something, anxiety acting up, debilitating worry that leaves you bedridden and wishing for more sleep and security. You keep fucking up and nothing seems to fix it, no matter how hard you try. 

Well, it's the situation Saihara has found himself in. It's difficult for him to solve any cases, he's messed up a few investigations by being half-asleep but on edge with an odd feeling brewing in his stomach and he keeps repeating to himself that the work he does is awful, there's nothing redeemable about it and if he falls behind his work for a moment he's a failure. He's supposed to be beyond the level of a normal detective, he's supposed to be better than this. 

He's supposed to be an  _ ultimate _ . A Hope's Peak alumni even if he believes he isn't deserving of the title.

It's the gifted kid curse. The curse that's been cast upon him. He's always excelled academically. In classes, falling behind was never a thing. He was always told he was apparently a "natural" when it came to detective work. 

Now that that natural status is being disproven? Now that his own worries and self-affirmation that his own skills aren't good enough are being proven correct?

He doesn't like it. It feels wrong, nothing feels right. The pit in his stomach feels as if it's getting bigger and bigger and there's nothing he can do. 

So here he sits. At home, crying over a new case because one culprit already ran off and there's not enough evidence to convict the other even though he is certain it's him. His eyes started watering up the fourth time he went over it.   
  


Another thing he's been told? He's sensitive. He's sensitive to other people's emotions and his own negative ones. He stews in them for too long, and he's never able to get out.   
  


He decides to call it in for the night. The case is too tough, he can't do it, so what's the point in trying? In putting any effort in when all he's going to get is disappointment? 

He plops down on his bed like a sack of old potatoes, bags under his red, bloodshot eyes and breathing in heavily, steadily. Or at least attempting to. It's difficult to, it's so difficult to try and steady his own breathing. He buries himself under the covers. Something about the warmth and weight feels comforting and suffocating at the same time. 

There have been several nights where he's fallen asleep quicker than he should have. Sooner than he should have. Told himself it's just a quick nap but it turns into a full night of rest, over ten hours of sleep, entire days where he's just slept and slept and-

The door clicks open. The front door. Keys drop on the counter, the familiar sound of dozens of metallic keychains clinking against the counter and a familiar sigh. He listens to the closet door open, a clunk coming afterwards only for the creek and click of a closed door to sound through again. A beep and then the door locks.

Footsteps are making their way down the hallway, and Saihara only has seconds to attempt to make himself look vaguely presentable before the bedroom door slowly creeks open, a familiar face making his way in. 

"You're in bed already? It's only 7 PM."

Amami sits at the edge of the bed, his own side of the bed, back facing the outer window with the blinds drawn. Blackout curtains are drawn.

"Are you not feeling well?"

His own readability, Amami's ability to read people. He knows him far too well in order for him to hide anything.

He's helped him through these episodes before, he knows better than anyone else the signs of them. When he's not alright.

He was hoping not to worry him. But of course, Amami is able to open his pages and read him like a picture book, flipping through to find exactly the conflict that this character faces today.

And he's glad about it. He's actually very glad about it. As much as he'd rather not have people be constantly worried about him, it was much easier for him to speak on things that were bothering him upon getting prompted to. Much easier for someone else to open that conversation in his place.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." 

The other man nods, sitting up for a moment and walking over to the other side of the bed.

Amami makes his way under the covers to rest with him, green eyes glimmering in the warm light from above. His hands are cold against the skin of his arms, fingers softly grazing against smooth pale porcelain skin. One hand rests on that arm, the other shuffles to slide past the gap between the bed and his side, wrapping around to pull him in closer.

"Do you want to talk about it, Shu?"

He nods.

"Yeah just…" he looks down at the dark blue sheets, "give me a second to get everything just… sorted?" 

"Take your time, darling. It's alright."

A kiss pressed to the top of his head. He chuckles a bit at it, but quickly diverts his gaze back to Amami, looking at him expectantly. Somehow there's an invisible pressure. Though Amami looks at him with concern, genuine concern and love, Saihara knows he's expected to say something, and that makes him feel anxious. It would be much easier if he wasn't looking him in the eyes. Scopiphobia started acting up at the worst times, and even if he knows he's just worried and trying to show that he's fully listening to him, it's that invisible pressure.

And apparently his emotion has shown through his expression.

"Ah, sorry babe,," Rantaro looks down at the sheets and Saihara's hands, taking the arm that was not currently trapped under a body to hold it in his own, rubbing the top of the palm with his thumb, "Would it be easier if I wasn't looking at you?"

"Yeah, that would be a lot of help." 

Saihara takes a deep breath in. 

"I feel like I'm a failure. I can't seem to track down where this dog could have gone, and the recent murder case…" he drifts off for a moment, "I can't say much about it, but it's difficult. It's been really hard and I just…"

Saihara chokes up for a second.

"I should be doing better. I need to do better. I want to do better but I can't."

Amami pulls him in a bit closer, lightly hushing him and cooing into his ear with soft "It's alright"s and "Just let it out"s as his shoulders begin to shake and he completely unravels into a sobbing mess. 

Saihara has always been a stress crier, no matter what the situation. He always knows when it's coming too. His throat starts to tighten up and he can feel his eyes twitch as the tears he tries to hold back but that eventually spill over.

His shoulders slow after a few minutes of listening to Amami's voice and trying to steady his own breathing until he's left in a slow, stuttering pattern.

"Y'know that isn't true, yeah?"

Saihara hums.

"The part about you being a failure. You aren't."

Rantaro is looking down at their hands with a type of calm intensity. Had it been earlier into their relationship, Saihara would have misread this as anger against him. But he knows better now. He just believes what he's saying. 

"Yeah, I know," Saihara 

"And if anything were to happen to you, I'd be devestated?"

Saihara nods, but he's not certain he fully believes it. People move on. Sure, Rantaro would care for the first few months, but he could just as easily find somebody else.

"Are you thinking about hurting yourself?"

There's the big question, and Saihara nearly winces at it. He knows he has had those kinds of thoughts, it's easy to go back on bad coping after all. Except it wasn't coping. It just made him feel worse but it was addictive, it took his mind off of what was bothering him in favour of patching up a cut.  
  
It's nothing but destructive at the end of the day. Nothing beautiful about it. But that doesn't mean he hasn't thought of it.  


He stays silent for a few moments, focusing on the feeling of a hand against his own. He doesn't want to talk about it. He isn't active and doesn't plan on being, so he thinks it's not something to worry about.

"Oh, sorry. I sounded a bit intense there, didn't I?" Rantaro lowers his voice, bringing it closer to a near whisper, "I didn't mean to."

He shuffles a bit, now facing him or rather looking at him. Slowly, he looks back at Amami and finds his eyes full of emotion. Nothing negative, but concern and.. exhaustion? Maybe he had just as long of a day.

"I'm just... worried about you. I want to make sure you're safe. And.." he drifts off for a moment, "I don't want to lose you. Especially not like that. And it's ok to tell me if you're thinking like that if you want to, y'know that, right?"

Saihara nods, his grip on Amami's hand growing tighter. 

"Yeah.. I know. It's just hard sometimes."

Rantaro nods.

"It's alright. I understand."

He taps Saihara's hand with his thumb a few times, bringing out a shaky smile. Reassurance.  


"Let's get some rest. You need it, sweetheart. Maybe coming back to it with some fresh eyes would help?"

It's funny how easily people can forget about coping mechanisms in the moment. Walking away was never something he considered until he got too tired to even work. Taking deep breaths, getting a drink, doing something that calms him for a bit, his therapist's words ring through his head like a bell and he hates to admit that he can't recall them at the moment. Sometimes people need a little help.

He just hopes Rantaro would come to him if he ever needed the same help. He doubts that though. Amami's never been very open with his own emotions or feelings. Never really liked to talk about it. Most times when he's had a bad day he'll just sit in silence and bury himself into one of the books on their shelf or just stand in the shower for a long time. Or he'll just say some excuse for why he's upset in a tired, half muttering voice. Never much of a sit down like the one they're having here, or rather, lay down. He never wants to go in-depth.

Rantaro runs some fingers through his hair, and fingers un-lace from his own. Another thing he could do, grounding. Focus on the feelings of fingers on his scalp instead of how utterly awful he felt, and the voice with just a tinge of rasp but no short of sweetness that filled the air. The smell of his cologne and the pressure of the hand against his back.  


"Do you need some tea?"

Saihara hastily shakes his head. He doesn't exactly enjoy feeling this helpless, this dependant. He's sure nobody likes the feeling, he knows he doesn't. But he wants Rantaro to stay with him at this moment.

"No, no stay here."

And so the two of them drift off together, a tangle of legs and arms, warmer and together. Saihara spends the night softly breathing at Amami's neck and relaxing, focusing on the beat of his heart in tandem with his own.

In the morning, Amami makes him tea and a bit of breakfast - waffles. Something Saihara has always enjoyed. He's always been a good cook.


End file.
